


1 2 3

by mikemunhoe



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: M/M, Other, most of the characters tagged are only mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 10:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15906732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikemunhoe/pseuds/mikemunhoe
Summary: A character study of a serious Ryder





	1 2 3

One, two, three. A quick succession of fists collide with the old and dusty punching bag that currently hangs haphazardly in the Pathfinder’s quarters. Said Pathfinder, Scott Ryder, stands defensively ready to strike. His brown eyes burn with untamed fire as he strikes the bag again, five times now.

His brain repeated the scenes over and over in his head.

He’s reminded of the sharp sting to his cheek as his memory is brought back to the Citadel. An argument between him and his father. Vicious words thrown at each other until Alec finally lost his temper. Scott’s head clocked to the side and he stared distantly towards the wall for a moment, regaining his bearings. He heard a sharp inhale from behind him and with a quick glance to his father's shocked, and almost ashamed, expression, he left the apartment to find Harry, ignoring his sister who called out for him.

One. Two. Three.

His memory is jolted to the Archon’s flagship. He struggled against his bindings as the needle was stuck into his neck. He clenched his teeth, fighting back a groan. The Archon’s fingers still gripped his jaw tightly, almost bruisingly, as he bore into the Pathfinder’s eyes.

“Save your strength, human” he growled out. The words made Scott’s blood boil and he tried to lunge forward despite the field, managing to snap his jaw towards the Archon who only sneered at him, responding to his comms.

One. Two. Three. A biotic fueled kick for good measure. He feels his leg ache angrily but he doesn’t care. The bag rips slightly and the stuffing inside jutts out. SAM suggests he stops.

The words sting and he feels his heart ache, his stomach sinks. The words of some ‘third-rate smuggler’ shouldn’t bother him this much. He clenches his eyes shut, inhales, and leaves. He’s not sentimental, and he scolds himself when he can only think of Reyes chapped lips against his. In the storeroom… on the roof. His jaw aches as his teeth push into each other and his fingers begin to cramp as his fists clench tight. He absentmindedly dismisses his companions back to the Tempest. Before he can doubt himself he’s already inhaling the thick red powder he’d only acquired moments ago. He distantly hears SAM hurriedly paging Lexi, hears SAM request to cleanse the Oblivion from his system.

“Y’know, Ryder? You’re kind of a dick. But I’ve worked with worse”

One. Two. He shouts and his biotics flare as the last hit slams into the punching bag inhumanly strong. Three. The bag flies back into the wall and smashes into the monitor hanging there, destroying the screen and tearing the punching bag wider. He breathes out a sigh through his nose and asks SAM to make a requisition for a new one.


End file.
